Cuddy's Vacation
by missaleatoire
Summary: Cuddy is sick and takes an overdue vacation, ostensibly from House. House has other ideas.
1. Chapter 1

**Cuddy's Vacation**

**_(Totally Pointless) Disclaimer: I do not own House._**

**_Well, I'm on spring break and really really bored. So I decided to write something. And also to rant how much I HATE this two-week wait that they're subjecting us to AGAIN!!!_**

**_Ok. Rant over. On with the story. Enjoy!_**

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Cuddy sighed, staring out at the miserable rain. She had a big pile of paperwork in front of her, like always, and she had absolutely no motivation for tackling it. _Once I finish this pile, there'll always be more. What's the point? _She felt stagnant, dull. To top it all off, she had a cold, which compounded her misery. She reached for a tissue, blew her nose in it, and dropped it in a wastepaper basket that was already full of used tissues.

"Argh," she groaned, putting her head down on the table.

"Morning, sunshine," a familiar, uncharacteristically cheery voice said.

_Great. _The cherry on top of her perfect day. "What do you want, House?" she snapped, raising her head.

"Need you to sign this," he said, putting a clipboard in front of her. His eyes narrowed. "You look hideous."

"Gee, thanks," she said tiredly. "What every girl wants to hear." She scrawled her signature on the bottom without even looking at it.

"You didn't read it," he said, looking at her suspiciously.

"I really don't have the strength to argue with you today, and I don't really care, either. So go ahead, do whatever you want and leave me alone."

"Thanks!" he said brightly as he turns to leave. "Hope you feel better soon."

She looked at him, slightly shocked. "What did you say?"

"I said I hope you feel better," he said in his most sincere voice. "That cold you have is making you wear turtlenecks and long pants. I need these low-cut tops and short skirts back soon or I don't know what I'd do."

She groaned. "How considerate. Thank you, House."

"No, thank _you_, Dr. Cuddy," he said as he went out the door. "For letting me disconnect the patient's central nervous system."

"What?" Cuddy shrieked. But he was already gone.

_Oh well,_ she thought. _He knows what he's doing. Hopefully._ She put her head back down on the desk.

"Dr. Cuddy?"

"_What?_" She snapped, at the end of her rope.

"I'm really sorry, Dr. Cuddy," her assistant said timidly. "It's just…you have a board meeting in five minutes."

"Oh," Cuddy said, taken aback. "Alright, thank you."

--

After thirty minutes of meeting, during which Cuddy wanted to shoot herself in the head, it was finally, mercifully over.

"One last thing, Dr. Cuddy." The chairman of the board said, adjusting his glasses.

Cuddy was just getting ready to get up and dash to the cafeteria for a hot cup of tea. "Yes?" she said, plastering a smile on her face.

"Our records indicate that you have not taken a vacation for eighteen months. You are long overdue."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly—" Cuddy said, not even wanting to address the notion of her going on vacation when there was so much to do.

"Take a week or two off, Dr. Cuddy. Go somewhere sunny. The hospital will survive without you," the chairman said with a smile.

"I will think about it, thank you," Cuddy said. She had absolutely no plans of taking a leave.

--

"Go on vacation, Cuddy!" Wilson urged. "You need it."

"No I don't!" she said and then promptly had a coughing fit.

Wilson waited for her coughs to subside, and raised a wooly eyebrow. "I think that just answered for itself."

She took a long sip of her tea, feeling it warm her. "I have so much work…and besides, I can't face sitting on a plane for god-knows-how-many hours hacking away and infecting all the other passengers."

Wilson considered for a moment. "Why don't you stay at home for a week, then? You could do your work there, you'll be easily reached if anything happens, and you'll be comfortable."

Her first instinct was to say no. But then, remembering how little motivation she felt and how sick she was, she relented. "Well, alright. Maybe."

--

The next day, House planned to burst dramatically into Cuddy's office like usual. But when he got there, the doors were locked and the blinds were drawn. "Where's Cuddy?" he demanded her assistant.

"Dr. Cuddy is taking a leave, Dr. House," the assistant said. She was rather frightened of the scruffy, cane-wielding man.

"Yes!" House cheered. "Free of the wicked Witch-o-the-West! Goodbye, clinic duty!"

The assistant looked after him, perturbed, as he went away with a spring in his step.

--

"Ding-dong, the witch is dead," House sang as he burst into Wilson's office instead.

"She's not dead, House." Wilson said without looking up from his work.

"Uh, I beg to differ. Have you seen her?" House sat in the chair in front of Wilson's desk, and stretched his legs out. "Zombies looked more lively."

Wilson sighed and looked up. "Cuddy's recuperating at home, so you might want to be considerate for once in your life and not do something crazy to bother her."

"What would I do?" House asked innocently.

"Oh, I don't know, set the hospital on fire. Incur lawsuits. What you do on a daily basis."

House thought for a minute. "Who's taking her place? Cameron?" An evil smile began to appear on his features.

"No," Wilson said. "Dr. Richardson."

The smile instantly disappeared. House groaned. Richardson was a strict old fart with zero sense of humor. He also happened to be on the hospital board, and therefore had the authority to fire House if he went over the line. These people weren't stupid; they had effectively blocked anything House might have wanted to try.

"Aw, no fun for you?" Wilson mocked, reading House's mind.

"Oh, please, Jimmy boy." House said as he stood up. "Don't you know? It's a party wherever I go."

--

House, in fact, was lying when he made that last statement to Wilson, and only said it for effect. He had absolutely no clue what to do. He was royally bored. His team was out testing. Wilson was busy, and had made it clear that he did not want to be bothered today. Normally, House would have disregarded Richardson and went ahead with his pranks anyway; he was not the one for observing rules, threats or no threats. But even House thought it would be a little cruel to get Cuddy to bail his ass out when she was clearly sick and miserable. _You know you only play pranks to get her attention,_ a voice said that sounded suspiciously like Wilson's.

House bounced his ball against his desk. He had a few ideas what was wrong with the patient, but he could not diagnose until he got the test results back. Richardson had his office somewhere else in the hospital and House had not seen him yet, so he figured that as long as he successfully avoided him, he could miss out on clinic duty.

_Well, only one thing to do_. The evil grin reappeared on House's face as he grabbed his cane. Time to pay Cuddy a little house visit. Pun 100% intended.

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**Ooh, sounds like fun! Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Cuddy's Vacation Ch. 2**

**For those who enjoy the medicine in House, there is a bit of it in this chapter. For those who enjoy Wilson-House interaction, we have that too. For those who enjoy Huddy moments, they're also in here. Something for everyone, yay! And thanks for reviewing!**

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Cuddy was at home, dressed in her houserobe, sweatpants and slippers. She sat with a big mug of ginger tea in front of her paperwork. After ten minutes, however, she found that she could not concentrate with her blocked sinuses and mild headache. "Oh, screw it," she muttered, abandoned her work, and parked herself in front of the television. A _Friends _marathon was on.

_This is rather nice,_ she thought. Although she was still sick, being home like this was much better than being at work, keeping up a brave front through her sniffles.

She was just getting into the banter of Joey, Phoebe and Rachel when a knock sounded on the door.

_Who could that be?_ She wondered, as she got up to answer it. When she saw that it was House, she felt a contradictory mixture of being surprised and yet not surprised at the same time. "House," she said, rubbing her temples. "I took a vacation to get _away_ from you."

"I brought soup," House said, and thrust a deli carton roughly at her. She could see that the soup was leaking through the plastic bag, probably from all the joggling on his motorcycle. Still, the gesture was very sweet, and…unHouse-like.

He must have read that last thought in her eyes, because he said, "Oh, don't get all girly-swotty on me. I only brought the soup so you wouldn't slam the door in my face." Also, he figured that Cuddy would be so distracted by the fact that he actually did something nice, that she wouldn't remember that he was supposed to be at the hospital, working.

Cuddy smiled. "Thanks, House." She gingerly took the dripping carton from him and let him in.

She went into the kitchen, poured the soup into a bowl and got out a spoon. When she carried the bowl back into the living room, she saw that House had already made himself comfortable on the couch and was watching TV.

"What is this crap?" He indicated the _Friends_ characters as she joined him on the couch.

"Well, it's a rather popular sitcom, you see, and—" She already felt better with him here.

"Well, it's crap." House said, grabbed the remote before she had a chance to react, and changed the channel to NASCAR racing.

"House!" She glared. "You can't come to my house and change the channel on my TV! Aren't you supposed to be at work anyway?"

_Damn. She remembered._ He found himself thinking that even in ratty clothes, no makeup and being sick into the bargain, she still looked good. "I'm bored," he said. "Test results haven't come back yet so I have nothing to do. And I know you want to, but we can't have sex because you're sick and you'll get all these germs on me—"

"House!" She exclaimed.

"—So might as well let me watch NASCAR," he finished, smirking. His eyes travelled back to the screen.

She took back the remote. "Get back to work, House," she ordered.

He crossed his arms stubbornly. "Make me." He looked so much like an overgrown child that she couldn't help but smile.

"You can't, can you?" he taunted her. "You can't because you're sick—"

His beeper went off.

"Guess I won't have to," she said.

He grumbled and stood up. "Bye, Cuddles. Rest assured, this isn't the last you've seen of Gregory House!" He cried dramatically as the door slammed behind him.

"I hope not," she murmured, grinning. As she changed the channel back to the _Friends_ marathon, it briefly occurred to her that NASCAR racing would've been all right with him by her side.

--

"Excitotoxicity," House wrote on the symptoms board. "Nerve cell death. Our patient's been ordering in one too many of these Chinese takeouts."

"Excitotoxicity is involved in Multiple sclerosis, ALS, Parkinson's, Alzheimer's—" Foreman numerated.

"The patient's twenty-five!" Taub protested.

"Traumatic brain injury and stroke are also possible causes," Kutner said.

"She's had nothing of the kind."

"Alcoholism?" Thirteen offered.

"Tox screen's negative."

"Huntington's." Kutner said quietly, looking at Thirteen, who bit her lip. "We don't have a history of her parents so we don't know if they have it or not."

"Test for Huntington's, and everything Foreman said." House ordered. "We can't discriminate because of age now, can we?"

When his team left, Wilson poked his head in. "House."

"Now who's bothering whom?" House said.

"I was just over at Cuddy's house during my lunch hour—"

"Playing the knight-in-shining armor," House said, nodding.

"I was bringing over some soup," Wilson said, ignoring him. "And she told me you'd done that already." His eyes narrowed. "You brought soup to a sick person?"

"You make that sound like a bad thing," House said, going over to his desk.

"What's next, helping little old ladies cross the street?" Wilson asked incredulously.

House sighed exaggeratedly, and sat down. "You know," he said loudly. "Cross-examining me every time I do something nice isn't a good motivator for me to keep doing it."

"No, no," Wilson said, raising his hands. "By all means, keep up the good deeds. But I have a feeling that if I, or anyone else was sick, you wouldn't bring soup."

"Oh, here we go," House muttered.

"You like Cuddy." Wilson stated. "And not just because of her ass."

"There's her boobs too, yeah," House threw in. Wilson had left that one wide open; it was impossible to refrain from making these retorts when it was so easy.

"No. Because if you were only after sex, you wouldn't have gone to her house when she was sick."

House decided enough was enough. "Alright, alright, I confess," he said. "The reason I went over to her house was because I wanted to skip out on work, and the reason I brought her soup was so she wouldn't kick me out. There. Sorry if there weren't any hidden romantic motives for you to analyze and live vicariously through!"

Wilson nodded. "All right. Fair enough." He turned to leave. "Oh, by the way, I was thinking of dropping by to see Cuddy again after work."

"Who are you, her mother?" House called after him. He sounded pissed off. Wilson grinned.

--

House stayed late at work that day because of the patient. By the time he got back to his apartment, it was already dark. He heated up a frozen TV dinner in the microwave, too hungry to wait for pizza delivery. He was keenly aware that he hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. Such was the nature of his job. At least he was in good company; his team wouldn't have had five-course meals in a while, either--apart from Taub, who had his wife to cook him dinner. Wilson was another one in the culinarily-deprived club. So was Cuddy.

_Well, Cuddy wouldn't have the appetite for a good meal in her current state, anyway._

He washed down the bland meatloaf and limp vegetables down with scotch in front of the TV. The sounds from the show tried valiantly to fight against the grim loneliness of his apartment, and lost. House eventually put it out of its misery by pressing the power button.

He took a few Vicodin, rubbed his leg, and prepared for bed. Suddenly, something occured to him. He picked up the phone and dialed Cuddy's number.

"Yeah?" She answered tiredly.

"Hey. Did Wilson come over after work today?"

"No. Why?" She answered, puzzled.

"Just wondering. Goodnight, Cuddles."

He hung up, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face, and went to bed.

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**If you're happy and you know it please REVIEW!! =D**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews! Here's the next chapter!**

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"Negative for Huntington's," Kutner announced. They were in the laboratory. He glanced over at Thirteen, who kept her expression perfectly indifferent. She didn't know whether to be happy that this person would not suffer the same fate as she did, or to be disappointed that once again, she was alone in the "slowly dying of a degenerative disease" box.

"Negative for MS and ALS too," Foreman said.

"Alzheimer's, negative." Taub said.

Thirteen tried to focus on her own test. When she got the results, she gasped. "Parkinson's—positive!"

"Wow. Really?"

"Young onset. It happens," Foreman shrugged. "I guess the case's solved. Start her on levodopa. We should tell House."

--

House left the hospital on his motorcycle. He stopped at a red light at an intersection. He normally went straight to go back to his apartment. Turning left would take him to Cuddy's house.

_Turn left,_ urged the Wilson-voice. _Go see how she's doing._

_No way, _he retorted. _I'm tired and I want to go home. I'm going straight through._

_Turn left._

_Go straight._

The light turned green.

On an impulse, he turned left.

--

He left his bike at the curb, briefly remembering the night of madness when he almost knocked on the door to ask Cuddy out. That had been all Wilson's doing; luckily House had come to his senses at the last second. He went up the steps and knocked.

No answer.

"Cuddles!" he yelled. "Open up!"

Listening intently, he could discern a weak moan, followed by a coughing fit. Concerned, he felt along the edge of the flowerpot on her porch and found the spare key. He opened the door.

"I'm in here," she called, her voice barely a thread.

He followed it and found Lisa Cuddy's bedroom. How ironic. He was here, at long last, and she was in no condition to get down and dirty.

Cuddy was buried in blankets and duvets; yet she was visibly shivering. "Hi," she said through chattering teeth. House went over to her side and felt her forehead. It was burning hot.

"Do you know your temperature?" he demanded her, noticing a thermometer on her bedstead, along with a glass of water and open bottles of Tylenol and Advil.

"H-hundred and five," she replied.

"And you took these?" he indicated the medication.

She nodded. "Didn't work."

_Geez. _Her fever was high, yes, but it was not lethal. She had the flu. He had nothing to diagnose and all there was to do was to wait it out, wait for her immune system to conquer the virus.

"Do you want antibiotics?" he asked. He knew as well as she did that antibiotics did nothing for viruses, but there was an off chance her symptoms were bacteria-caused.

"N-no," she said. "Won't work and I don't want to build up resistance. I'm f-fine," she added. She closed her eyes as another agonizing shiver ran through her body. She didn't need him; he could go. Flu was nothing a world-class diagnostician needed to bother himself about. She opened her eyes, expecting him to be gone.

He was still there, looking at her with a strange mixture of concern and hesitation. She assumed the latter was due to his indecision whether to leave her alone or not. "Go, House," she said.

House still hesitated. What if her fever got higher? She clearly needed someone to take care of her, but he wasn't sure that he was the one to do it.

_She said to go,_ said the misanthropic side of him. _If it were some patient in the clinic with a fever like this, you would sigh loudly for them wasting your time, tell them to drink plenty of fluids, and send them home without a second thought._

_Yeah, _retorted the Wilson-voice. _But that hypothetical clinic patient would have someone to take care of him back at home. She doesn't._

_Yes she does. I'll just phone up Wilson and he'll be more than happy to sit by her bed and press cold towels to her forehead._

_Sure, you could do that. But when she gets all better, do you want her to remember that you abandoned her in her illness and it was Wilson who took care of her?_

That last one stuck.

_For God's sake, it's just the flu._ But that was the last protest the misanthropic little voice made. He sat down in a chair by her bed. "No," he said in a nonchalant tone, "since I finally made it into the love den of Lisa Cuddy, I figured I might as well stay and brag about it tomorrow at work."

A tiny smile appeared on her sweat-streaked face. "Thanks, House," she said so quietly that she wasn't sure he heard her.

"Yeah, yeah. Next year, take the flu shot."

--

She was afraid she wasn't much company for House, for she slipped in and out of delirium for a while. She had trouble distinguishing between reality and hallucinations; one moment she would see House there, and then he would be gone the next. When she did see him, she would be terrified that she had only dreamt him, that he would disappear any moment. "House," she moaned.

"_Great_, you're moaning my name," House muttered from his chair. "Pity it isn't for the right reasons."

Her hand was tense and balled up into a fist. Not really knowing why he was doing it, he reached out and stroked it gently. Her hand slowly relaxed muscle by muscle. House was almost mesmerized by it. When he realized what he was doing, he drew back as if burnt.

--

Finally, she woke up, and felt clearer than she had been all day. He was reading one of her magazines that said "Makeup Palette for the Fall" on the cover.

"I think you're a Winter," she joked weakly.

He put down the magazine. "This is very educational," he said, tapping the glossy cover. "I feel like a pioneer into the twisted land of women's minds. For example, did you know that green is the new pink?"

"That was last fall, House. Black is the new green now."

"See? That is _so_ twisted. How do you feel?"

"Better."

He took up the thermometer. "Open wide," he said with a grin that hinted vaguely at some sexual connotation.

She rolled her eyes but opened her mouth obediently. As they waited for the mercury to rise, she was keenly aware that he was scrutinizing her. It was a little uncomfortable. She looked alternately at the ceiling, her hands, the wall, anywhere but at him. But when, by accident, her eyes finally met his, she was jolted by the intensity of his gaze. It was like she was some puzzle that he wanted—no, needed—to solve.

Finally, he broke it by taking the thermometer out of her mouth and checking it. "Yeah, it's gone down a bit. Do you want to eat? I ordered in." Afraid that she might think he was being too nice, he hastened to add, "I used your credit card. And I also rented some porn since you won't be up for any action anytime soon."

"Good to know," she said. She sat up slowly. He went out to reheat the takeout.

_Why is he doing this?_ She wondered. The last person he had been this considerate with was…Stacy.

_Oh._

--

She managed to keep her food down, though she felt nauseous a couple of times and nearly succumbed to the trash can.

After making sure she ate and drank more water, he stood up, grabbed his cane, and headed towards the door.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, and was surprised at hearing the note of desperation in her voice. What was she going to do, ask him to stay? Sleep on her couch with his leg?

House had heard it too. He paused. "Yeah," he said.

"Oh." She struggled to recover some of her dignity. "Okay."

"I have to go to work tomorrow. You know, unlike you?"

"Yeah, I get it," she smiled. She wanted to ask if he was coming tomorrow, but all she said was, "Bye."

"Bye."

And he was gone.

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**I enjoy the inner dialogue House has with the Wilson-voice, don't you? The next chapter will be a lot more cheerful, I promise! But meanwhile, you might want to keep me motivated by reviewing! Pretty please?**

P.S. Speaking of makeup palettes--check out A Little Bit of Fry and Laurie on youtube. The sketches are hilarious. Hugh looks great in drag ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for the kind reviews, everyone! I think you'll enjoy this chapter ;)**

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House didn't come the next day. Cuddy told herself not to be disappointed, that it was only to be expected with House. He probably felt he had done too much yesterday, and was keeping away to show how detached he was.

Still. No matter how much she understood him, she still couldn't keep from missing him.

Cuddy felt a lot better. In fact, her fever had continued to drop, and by noon it was completely gone. So she busied herself with paperwork and TV and tried not think about the very screwed-up relationship she had with a very screwed-up man.

--

Wilson dropped by after work. "How are you?" he asked concernedly.

"Good," Cuddy replied. "A lot better than yesterday."

"What happened yesterday?" he asked, brows furrowing.

"I had a fever of 105," she said. "But it's gone now," she added hastily when she saw Wilson's eyes widen.

"A hundred and five?!" he exclaimed. "And you had nobody to take care of you?" He began to apologize profusely. "I'm so sorry, Cuddy, I should've come…it's just that I was insanely busy and didn't get home til—"

"It's okay!" Cuddy interrupted, laughing. "I was fine. House came by."

There was a stunned silence. "House?" Wilson repeated.

"Yes…"

"Gregory House? The self-proclaimed insensitive jerk?"

"Yes, Gregory House."

"And…what exactly did he do?" Wilson asked carefully.

"Oh, he just made sure I was okay. That I ate, and stuff like that," Cuddy said, watching Wilson's face closely. His expression went from surprise to disbelief to ill-concealed delight. "Wilson…" She said in a warning voice.

"I wasn't thinking anything!" he lied, badly. "And he hasn't come by today?"

"No," she said dejectedly.

To her surprise, Wilson was unfazed. "Give him time," he said confidently. "He won't be able to stay away for long."

--

Since House had heard from Wilson that Cuddy was doing a lot better, he consciously decided to not go to her house. Adding to his decision was the fact that Wilson looked suspiciously cheerful when he told him the news, and House guessed that Wilson found out that he had gone to Cuddy's yesterday. House hated conforming to other people's expectations.

So when he reached that intersection, he determinedly went straight through, back to his apartment. He wasn't aware that by not going to Cuddy's house, he was doing exactly what was expected.

With a bottle of scotch for company, House tried to rationalize to himself. He was afraid that he had been too considerate. She might get the wrong message.

_Too considerate? _Scoffed the Wilson-voice. God, it was annoying. _You're not afraid that you had been too considerate! You're afraid that you are getting too close to her! _

_Shut up, Wilson-voice._ One Wilson was bad enough. He didn't need another one inside his head. _Anyways, a relationship with Cuddy would never work out. I'll just end up hurting her and pushing her away, like I did with Stacy._

_Maybe Cuddy's more resilient than that. After all, she did put up with you for all these years, even through your worst moments. And there is one important difference between her situation and Stacy's._

_And what is that, pray tell, oh Wilson-voice?_

_Stacy had Mark, who loved her. She wasn't alone. If you abandoned Cuddy…well, she has no one._

_--_

The following day was a Friday. Cuddy felt completely recovered. In fact, she was glorying in the fact that her sinuses were clear and her limbs were not sore. She was full of unspent energy. She had finished up her paperwork. Then she had sat and flipped through channels on TV, but nothing good was on.

She felt bored and restless. _Maybe I should go back to the hospital._ But it was the last day of her vacation, except for the weekend. Wilson would disapprove of her going in when she had recovered so recently.

She had no idea what to do with a free day. Work had been her life for so long that she felt lost when she had leisure time.

_Oh, screw it. I'm going back to the hospital._

She had just finished getting dressed when a knock sounded on the door.

--

Wilson had been right. House couldn't keep away for more than one day. He found himself again on her street.

_I am here because I am bored._ He told the Wilson-voice.

_All right. _The Wilson-voice said nonchalantly.

_No other reason!_

_Suuuure._

He knocked on her door.

--

"House!" She exclaimed. Boy, she looked happy to see him. Why?

"Hey," he said. "You've conquered the flu demon, then?" He could see that she had. Her cheeks were flushed with good health, and her eyes were sparkling.

"Yeah," she said. "I was just going back to the hospital."

He raised his eyebrows. "Why, when you've got a legitimate excuse to play hooky?" He smacked his forehead in mock realization. "Oh, wait, I forgot. You're Cuddy."

She blushed, but looked at him defiantly. "Whereas _you_ are playing hooky with no excuse whatsoever."

"My case is solved. Besides, I had to make sure the Dean of Medicine is alive," he said, twirling his cane.

She sighed. "I wasn't going to go back to work at first—but I have nothing to do at home," she confessed.

"Really," he said. He had a strange look in his eyes, like when he just got an idea.

"What?" she asked warily.

"I could think of something we could do."

She rolled her eyes. "House, I told you, we are _not_ going to have sex."

He looked shocked. "Cuddy! Get your mind out of the gutter! That wasn't what I was going to suggest at all! Although…I could adjust, since it's so evidently on your mind…"

"What were you going to say, then?" She interrupted.

"I was thinking of a grand tour of the city…on motorcycle," he gestured with a flourish, and pointed to his bike with his cane.

"I'm not getting on that deathtrap with you," she said flatly. However, her traitorous heart skipped at the thought.

He pressed a hand to his chest and pretended to look wounded. "You'll never be safer than with me." He had said it in a joking tone, but was surprised at how true the words came out.

Apparently, they had an effect on her too. She hesitated. "Okay." As she got on the bike behind him, she added, "If anything happens to us, you are fired." But she only said it for effect, because it was true that she had never felt safer.

--

They zoomed down the streets of Princeton in the New Jersey sunshine, and along the shining waters of Carnegie Lake, where the rowing club from the university was training.

Cuddy had her arms wrapped around House's waist, and her cheek against his back. He felt so wonderfully solid. The sun was warm against her face, and the wind felt refreshing after being cooped up for so long in her house. She has not felt this happy in a long time.

House always enjoyed rides on his motorcycle, because it was the only activity in which he could go fast and not worry about his leg. It was the only time that he didn't feel like a cripple. And he liked the feeling of having Cuddy with him.

They left the lake and went in the direction of the cemetery. Then they stopped. Cuddy saw that they were in front of the Ferry House. It was one of the best restaurants in the city.

"House?" she inquired as he got down from the bike.

"It's lunch time," he said. "And I'm hungry."

Cuddy hesitated. That didn't explain anything. If House was hungry, he could've just stopped at Burger King. He didn't have to take her to an expensive restaurant.

House sighed loudly. "Alright, Ms. I-Need-An-Explanation-For-Everything. I haven't had a decent meal in weeks, and I'm guessing neither have you. Takeout and cafeteria glop get old after a while, even for this unjaded palate o' mine. So I am coming here to eat _actual_ food. Are you going to eat with me?" He looked at her questioningly.

He was taking her to lunch! She realized gleefully. In fact—he had been doing nice things for her all week, all of it under the disguise of him being a selfish bastard as usual.

"Are you kidding?" She smiled. "I'm starving." It was true—she was ravenous. Being ill took a lot out of you. She slid down from the bike and slipped a hand through his arm. He seemed startled for a second, but left her hand there.

--

They barely talked after they had sat down, for they were too busy demolishing the bread basket. When their entrees came, they polished off these, too, in record time.

Finally, their hunger was satisfied. They sat, sipping wine. House was avoiding her gaze.

"House?" She wanted to ask him why he took such care of her when she was sick, but wasn't sure how to put it.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you take care of me when I was sick?" Oh. Well, a direct approach would do it.

"Because I wanted a raise and sexual favors," he said without missing a beat, looking up at her with piercing blue eyes.

"That's what I thought," she said cheerfully. She didn't really expect him to confess his feelings—his actions were enough.

"Well?" he asked, eyebrows waggling.

"Well, what?"

"Am I going to get them?"

"No," she smiled.

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**Review if you love me! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Aww thanks for the reviews, everyone! I'm so glad you liked last chapter. **

**Oh, and sorry about the patient being dropped so quickly, there...I didn't really know what else to write for it, and I wanted House to be free for Cuddy ;) Just think of it as one of House's cases that isn't a huge mystery and doesn't make it into the show.**

**Unfortunately, this chapter will mark the end. But this is my favorite one, so enjoy!**

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They stood outside in the restaurant parking lot, feeling a bit awkward now that they've left the comfortable middle ground of food. "D'you still want to go back to the hospital?" he asked.

She checked her watch. It was two p.m. Wow, she hadn't realized that she'd stayed that long in the restaurant. "Well, you should, in any case."

"So we'll go together?" he raised his eyebrows. He was no doubt thinking, like her, how it would look for the Dean of Medicine, who was supposed to be on vacation, to walk in together with her skiving Head of Diagnostics.

"I suppose—oh, wait," she realized. "I left all my paperwork at home. If I'm going to the hospital, I might as well bring them."

"I'll take you home, then," he said, pulling out his motorcycle from the parking space.

--

They reached Cuddy's house. She dismounted, while House stayed where he was on the motorcycle.

"I'll, uh, take my car to work," she said, a bit unnecessarily.

"Yeah," he said abruptly.

She hesitated, mourning the end of her vacation, the end of his attention. She gently pulled off his helmet. He seemed surprised, but didn't stop her.

"Thank you, House," she said with all her heart, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She began to pull back, but his hands shot out to stop her. Startled, she looked into his eyes, which were full of some inscrutinable emotion. Slowly, his hands made their way around her waist, pulling her closer. She closed their eyes as their lips met.

At first, their kiss was butterfly light, experimental almost. Then, as if something ignited, it deepened and they sought each other's mouths hungrily. She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him even closer. They were lost in the sensation, unaware of anything else in the world.

A loud rap on a neighboring house's window brought them back to reality. They broke apart reluctantly. Cuddy looked at the offending window; it was the snoopy ninety-year old from across the street.

"Who's the old bitch?" House growled, breathing unevenly. His arms still hadn't left her waist.

"Mrs. Hoffman," she replied. "She spends like 90% of her day parked in front of her living room window."

He chuckled. They let go of each other unwillingly. "Screw the hospital. Let's go into your house and have crazy wild sex for the rest of the afternoon," he suggested.

She smiled. "Tempting, but you've skipped enough hours already. Go, I'll see you in a bit."

"I love it when you play the boss," he said, pulling her in for another kiss, before letting her go and taking up his helmet again. "So ten o' clock tonight then, Dr. Cuddy?" he said loudly, for Mrs. Hoffman's benefit. "I'll bring the whip cream!" He revved his engine with extra gusto, and roared down the street.

Cuddy smiled widely before giving the window across the street a cheery wave, and went inside.

--

Half an hour later, she was through the hospital doors.

"Dr. Cuddy!" Her assistant jumped up. "I didn't expect you back so soon!"

Cuddy shot a dry look at the girl's magazine and iPod that she had hastily discarded. "Yes, I can see that. Any memos?"

As the girl scrambled around for notes, Cuddy looked towards the clinic. House was at the nurse's station flipping through folders, a red lollipop hanging out of the side of his mouth like a cigarette. He grabbed a folder, looked up, and caught her eye. He winked before disappearing into the exam room.

Cuddy couldn't help the warmth that spread through her, nor the faint blush that rose to her cheeks.

When she went back into her office, she noticed that somebody had left a flu vaccine, no doubt stolen out of the clinic, on the top of her papers. It had a piece of paper attached to it. She took it up; it was a page torn out of House's prescription pad.

_Exchange for unlimited supply of sex, Vicodin and free pass out of clinic to the prescribing doctor whenever he demands._

"You wish, House," she murmured, grinning, and slipped the note inside a drawer of her desk.

--

"Doctor," began the clinic patient as he stood up.

House held up a finger. "Shh. Your doctor will be with you shortly. I'm just hiding out here." He counted to twenty. "Bye."

House snuck his head out of the door. _Yes! All clear._ He waltzed by the nurse's station, depositing his file back where it came from. He carefully walked by Cuddy's office, noting that she was reading his note and smiling.

_Free! _His plot successfully executed, House headed back to his office for a little nap. Unfortunately, he met someone long the way.

"Where were you all day?" Wilson demanded House, frustrated. "And why are you grinning like an idiot?"

"You," House declared triumphantly, pointing his cane at his friend, "are finally out of my head."

"W-what?" Wilson spluttered confusedly.

"You heard me." House walked past him. "The Wilson-voice is forever silenced! My mind is once more my own domain!"

Wilson hurried after him. "Does that mean you actually listened to me?"

"Depends what you mean by _listening_."

"Did you ask Cuddy out?"

"Depends what you mean by _asking out_."

"You know, if you do decide on a relationship with her—"

"Uh-uh," House said, turning to face him, holding up a finger. "There it is again. Go away, Wilson-voice, I do not want you."

"But—" Wilson tried again.

"La-la-la," House sang loudly and walked away.

_Oh, well,_ Wilson thought. He was optimistic.

--

On Monday, Cuddy met with Dr. Richardson.

"Dr. Cuddy. Welcome back. I hope you had a restful vacation."

"I did, Dr. Richardson," Cuddy said, smiling. "Thank you so much for taking over. Everything went well, I trust?"

"Yes, very well indeed," Richardson said reassuringly. "Just a minor thing, though—"

"What?" Cuddy said fearfully. _Oh my god, what had gone wrong?_

"Dr. House seemed to have completed none of his clinic hours last week, and I was informed that he had cut work on several occasions. I thought that you should know."

"Oh," Cuddy said in relief. Then she hastily put a disapproving expression on her face. "Thank you for telling me, Dr. Richardson. I shall deal with him immediately."

With a smirk on her face, she sat at her desk, and dialed House's extension number.

"Yes, mistress?" House's voice drawled at the other end.

"You owe me a week of clinic hours. Get to it, now."

"What?" House yelped. "I was holding your hand while you were delirious! Doesn't that count for something?"

"Yes it does, House," She said sweetly. "Which is why I'm not adding on an _extra_ week of clinic for cutting work. I expect you down here immediately." She hung up.

She had had a very nice vacation.

**The end.**

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Yay! Please review!**


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